


head down til the work is done

by arekiras



Series: it took me years to say the words that you did not even need said [3]
Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Autistic Alec Lightwood, M/M, Nonverbal Alec Lightwood, Self-Harm, Stimming, Unsafe Stimming, check notes for detailed warning, unintentional self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-07
Packaged: 2019-05-19 03:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14865947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arekiras/pseuds/arekiras
Summary: "Alec feels like he’s underwater. His ears are ringing and he feels lightheaded, his lungs clenching with the sensation of drowning. No matter how hard he breathes in no air comes, just more water. His chest aches all the way to his shoulders, tight around his neck, frozen in a flinch.His eyes are on his desk, the wood grains seeming to writhe like snakes the longer he looks, vision going blurred with concentration. He blinks, but his depth perception is all wrong, he can no longer tell how far away he is. He was in his chair, but now he finds himself standing, poised to flee. A drop of blood patters onto the report he’s meant to be reading, but the letters are little more than a constantly moving ant colony now."





	head down til the work is done

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, there is minor description of self injurious stimming. Alec doesn't mean to hurt himself, but he dissociates and stims by twisting an arrowhead between his fingers and cutting himself. When he realizes he's bleeding, he stops. Please read with caution if you are easily triggered by acts of self harm, but know that it isn't intentional or the focus of the work. 
> 
> Requested by @rustpuppy on tumblr. 
> 
> Hmu with questions or prompts on tumblr or twitter @autisticalecs <3

Alec feels like he’s underwater. His ears are ringing and he feels lightheaded, his lungs clenching with the sensation of drowning. No matter how hard he breathes in no air comes, just more water. His chest aches all the way to his shoulders, tight around his neck, frozen in a flinch. 

His eyes are on his desk, the wood grains seeming to writhe like snakes the longer he looks, vision going blurred with concentration. He blinks, but his depth perception is all wrong, he can no longer tell how far away he is. He was in his chair, but now he finds himself standing, poised to flee. A drop of blood patters onto the report he’s meant to be reading, but the letters are little more than a constantly moving ant colony now. 

A voice breaks through the blocks in his ears. The entire world is in slow motion, but he registers his name. Slowly, achingly slowly, he looks up. Blinks. Tunnel vision. Noise. Words. 

He catalogues the human presence in stages, mind stumbling over its own feet in the process. Dark purple studded coat. Shiny silk shirt (slippery to the touch, Alec knows). Dark gray patterned pants. Man standing in the doorway. Magnus. 

Magnus. 

“Alexander,” Magnus’ eyes aren’t on Alec’s face. Good. Eye contact might kill him. He’s looking at Alec’s hands? Alec follows his gaze, way way down to his hands by his waist. His body proportions seem off. His arms are really that long? 

In his hands, he’s holding an arrow head. The shaft is on the desk. The silver point and sharp sides are coated in blood. His hands are covered in many tiny slices, thin red lines on his fingers and pooling in his palms. He continues twisting the arrowhead for another moment, the slide and constant movement soothing. 

“You’re bleeding,” Magnus says. 

Alec drops the arrowhead suddenly. It lands on the desk in the small puddle of blood. barely larger than a quarter. The pain doesn’t really register, it feels more like intense warmth in his fingers than anything. A sensation acute enough to hold his focus. He brings a thumb and forefinger together, squeezing, and looks back up at Magnus. 

“You missed dinner,” Magnus says. His tone is even, low enough to accommodate Alec’s throbbing head, threatening to turn into a terrible ache. 

“Dinner,” Alec repeats. Last he checked it was just past lunch. “Oh.” The words feel weird in his mouth, and he wonders if they’re words at all. Magnus seems to understand, though, because he approaches the desk and smiles softly. 

He takes Alec’s bloody hands and in a pulse of soothing blue magic, heals him up. The magic crackling over his skin travels straight up his spine. Something that’s normally pleasant makes him jerk away, ripping his hands from Magnus’ grip and clenching them into fists. He presses his hands to the sides of his head, just over his ears, tapping his knuckles against his temple. 

Magnus frowns, hurt feelings flashing across his face briefly, but then he rounds the desk and pries Alec’s hands gently from his head, squeezing his palms. His rings are cool against Alec’s crawling skin and he sighs, shoulders dipping. When Magnus pulls on his hands, Alec goes easily, dropping his head into the crook of Magnus’ neck and welcoming the arms that wrap around his back, squeezing him tight. 

The pressure helps him gather up the bits of himself that had been taken by the phantom flood, his sluggish thoughts wrapping themselves up in Magnus’ arms. “’M really stressed,” he grumbles into Magnus’ shoulder. He can feel Magnus’ soft laugh in his own chest. 


End file.
